


Primary Resistance at a Critical Low

by sesera



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sesera/pseuds/sesera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve looking hot in a suit at some BS benefit makes an attraction Tony has been trying to ignore more or less unavoidable. (PWP that developed sort of a plot along the way...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Primary Resistance at a Critical Low

The instant the Stark Tower elevator door closes after them—after one Captain America fireman’s carry (not princess carry, thank you very much) of Tony down to the museum lobby at super-speed and one thankfully short but still incredibly torturous cab ride where Tony didn’t even trust himself to let their hands or legs touch for fear of the spark that might ignite—Tony pushes Steve flush against the elevator wall. This time he goes straight for Steve’s neck, licking and sucking and biting. While his mouth is busy his hands work on pulling Steve’s shirt out from his pants again and unbuttoning it so he has clearer access to Steve’s bizarrely smooth and hairless chest—maybe the serum had an electrolysis effect, Tony doesn’t know, what the hell is a vita-ray anyway after all?—flicking thumbs across nipples just to take in the shudder that runs through Steve’s deliciously sensitive body with a wild sense of glee. _I did that, I did that, and God he’s responsive..._

All too soon the doors open and they’re on the Captain America floor, and Tony’s glad he didn’t have that round Cap-shield-shaped bed installed as a prank after all, because the only distraction he wants from here on out is Steve.

They step out together from the elevator doors, face each other, and Steve makes an executive decision and hoists Tony up over his right shoulder.

 

_Two hours earlier..._

 

Steve looked unfairly hot in a suit.

Not that this was anything Tony noticed, not that he was sulkily avoiding taking in Steve’s stupid navy suit, matching vest, and white tie contrasting against it—really on point there, Avengers stylist, might as well have dressed Tony in scarlet with a gold tie—all of which fit too snugly for their own good. He purposely looked at other things around one of the American Museum of Natural History’s fourth-floor prehistoric fossil halls: Natasha’s sparkly black backless gown, Thor appearing deeply uncomfortable in his own suit and Jane’s attempts to smooth away his grumpy expression, or even Clint’s weirdly intense glare at everything around him, that he’d swear was just his regular face. They’re at some tedious $20,000-a-plate charity soirée, A Night With The Avengers or some bullshit. Everyone’s expected to perform, to mingle, to schmooze. Unfortunately, Tony’s eyes just keep coming back to Steve.

God damn it.

Tony turned back to the bar. Maybe if he had a few drinks, he’d stop thinking about such a distressing subject.

They’d hated each other on sight, of course—the now-infamous initial confrontation aboard the helicarrier might, _might_ have been on the verge of devolving into a girlish slap-fight, but Tony would neither confirm nor deny that—but as that faded and a natural mutual curiosity replaced it Tony found himself wishing they could go back to hatred, because the closer relationship brought its own issues with it. He really wished he didn’t find Steve so interesting, how he always had a fresh and surprising take on a world that Tony thought of as totally normal. He sparked some scientific interest that kept Tony’s brain stuck in a feedback loop that just kept coming back to Steve. No, they hadn’t circled each other suspiciously for long before Tony found himself wanting to spend more and more time with Steve, spurred on by the realization of some innate compatibility humming between them. That by itself might have been manageable, but then there was the fact that Steve had been genetically enhanced to be _perfect and gorgeous in every way._

The worst part was that the feeling appeared to be mutual. Tony could have repressed and pushed it all out of mind on his own—maybe—but Steve paid him a _lot_ of attention. He’d come to visit him in his workshop, bringing coffee, with some question or other for the resident 21st-century expert. Somehow he appeared genuinely interested in everything Tony was working on and doing. And once he’d learned, he’d ask questions later in the others’ presence that made it super incredibly obvious that the two of them had been spending a lot of time together alone. Natasha’s smirk the first time that happened was just the worst. It was frankly embarrassing and Tony was sure incidents like that made this whole thing so evident to everyone around them. And yet he really had no idea why it had become this phenomenon; he knew why Steve was fascinating to him, or actually he didn’t but could make a few good guesses—a forgotten hero he’d half-idolized as a kid, now distressingly attractive to Tony as an adult and also his opposite in the most frustrating and yet irresistible way—but he couldn’t figure out why Steve might be interested in him too. If he was. But if not, why did he seem to care more about Tony on a personal level than anyone else on the team? Steve had given him a tour of his old Brooklyn neighborhood, he had saved his ass more times in battle than Tony cared to think about, he had developed an irritating concern for Tony’s nutritional intake. He had even found him passed out in the lab and carried him up to bed once, and Tony wasn’t sure if he’d dreamed or hallucinated the lightest of touches on his skin before the lights went out. There was _not_ a dull ache somewhere in the vicinity of his chest just thinking about it. But it was still a mystery to him why those things had happened, what there was about him to draw Steve. Naturally he had his usual confidence in what he had to offer women and the occasional nuclear-level attractive man, but for some reason that didn’t seem to apply here and he was adrift.

To his chagrin the couple drinks he’s had do not get him drunk. Instead he’s buzzed in every sense of the word, running more on high-strung anxiety over this issue than the alcohol, unable to get Steve out of his mind. It’s enough, however, to make him bold enough to decide to go approach the man. Maybe he’s tired of nursing a platonic connection, maybe he’s ready to just find out if there really is something there so he can stop thinking about it literally all the time, literally.

There’s a bit of semi-drunken logic at play in his half-cocked plan: he intends to go up and breathe something sexy in Steve’s ear, watch him get all hot and bothered, and kick things off that way, but he’s more unsure of himself than he thought and in the moment he stops short in front of the man instead, brain short-circuiting at how ridiculously appealing he looks in that damn suit. He opens his mouth and babbles something about needing some air, and to his relief Steve agrees—looking glad for the excuse to escape—and follows Tony down some hallways and into another gallery, this one darkened but still filled with looming dinosaur skeletons. There’s a railing along one wall, running in front of one large window that looks out to the Manhattan city lights. Tony goes to lean his forearms against it, and Steve settles facing the opposite way next to him, almost sitting on the rail. Tony’s not going to let his eyes dip down to Steve’s ass. Okay, he totally is. He has a legitimate problem.

This close to Steve, all the atoms in Tony’s body seem to come alive, and it’s probably his imagination that there’s a cloud of pheromones making the space between them thick with tension. It’s been like this for a while—feeling a heightened sense of anticipation in Steve’s presence, for no discernible reason—and he’s really not sure if he’s the only one who’s noticed. He’s noticed Steve’s eyes cut over to him at those times, though, and that’s what’s made him start to wonder if maybe he’s not alone in this after all.

Tony takes a deep breath, trying to calm and center himself, and then stands up straight, looking out the window. A glint catches his eye and it’s the moonlight on Steve’s hair, turning it translucent. This just seriously isn’t fair. How can you be so fond of, and so drawn to, one person despite yourself? Then he notices Steve’s eyes, fixed on him, face turned to look at him, inescapable.

Tony’s not really sure what happens after that. His body must have gone on autopilot and surrendered to the thrumming, pulsing energy connecting him to Steve’s, because before he’s even aware of it he’s reaching a hand up and brushing the back of his fingertips lightly, gently against Steve’s cheekbone. Steve’s eyes flutter closed, and as Tony’s hand lingers against his face he presses his face to it. He gulps, and Tony’s a little maybe a lot distracted watched his Adam’s apple bob, and when he opens his eyes he looks so raw it causes something in Tony’s chest that’s hopefully not the arc reactor to lurch, to catch. “Tony, I... there’s something I have to... I need... I want...” 

“I know,” says Tony, and closes the gap between them. Steve’s mouth opens beneath his instantly, like he’s been counting on this all night, and warmth pools in Tony’s belly at the thought that maybe he has, and God knows why, but Tony’s going to take what he can get. At first it’s soft exploration, but then Tony remembers something and moves one hand down to grab Steve’s ass, now that he can.

It’s like a switch is flipped. Steve’s eyes snap open, filled with intensity, and he grabs Tony’s wrist and lifts it to hold captive against the windowpane, moving in relentlessly at the same time so that Tony has to back up, trapped between Steve and the window. He has just long enough to take in the full-blown and delicious flush on Steve’s cheeks, the red red lips, the panting, before they’re on each other, and it’s the consummation of months of dancing around and, for Tony at least, yearning and aching for something he thought he couldn’t have for so many reasons. Steve’s grip on his wrist, held above him, is like iron— _fuck, that’s hot_ , Tony tries not to think—but eventually he drops it so they can put those hands to better use pulling shirts from pants to reach and touch the warm skin underneath. It’s been a dream for so long Tony almost can’t believe this is real, but that’s not going to stop him from taking advantage of how close they’re pressed together and rolling his hips experimentally. Steve breaks the kiss to gasp while Tony enjoys watching the blush creep up his starched shirt onto his cheeks. “God, Tony...”

“For the record, in case you were worried, that may in fact be booze you taste on me but I will have you know I am fully in control of all my faculties and I promise not to regret this in the morning. Or ever, actually, but pretend you didn’t hear that. My point is, alcohol is not impairing my judgment. Just enhancing it.”

Steve darts him an arch look, then a rueful half-smile. “At this point, I’m not sure I would care. I couldn’t take another minute of all the...”

“Shameless staring? Inappropriate comments? God, the things I’ve wanted to do to Captain America. Especially when you told us all the full extent of your sexual experience or should I say lack thereof during that one game of Never Have I Ever...”

“I’m seriously never agreeing to join Clint and Natasha for a game before knowing what it is ever again.”

“Too late, I already know all your secrets. Besides, come on, it’s incredibly fucking hot. Do you have any idea how many fantasies that fueled, I thought about going down on you right after a battle, unzipping the one functional zipper on your damn uniform and going to town...”

“Tony!”

“But what I don’t understand is how you can, you know, feel the same. Apparently. I mean I just don’t really get what there is about me that...”

“How can you even say that? You’re... you’re the one person who’s never impatient with me about not knowing everything, you love to show me around your world even. You treat me like a person and not an ideal, you call me out and challenge me... and somewhere along the way you became my favorite person, so of course I... Of course I...”

The look on his face is so earnest, so beseeching, that Tony can’t help but swallow the lump in his throat and kiss that face that’s too adorable for its own good and his own sanity for that matter. The kiss is warming up slowly as they continue exploring each other, but then Steve shifts, dragging his groin across Tony’s in the process, and suddenly everything is desperate again, so full of the pent-up want and unrequited feelings, Steve aligning the full line of his body against Tony’s and grinding their groins together in a way that makes the both of them gasp and dive more shamelessly after the other. Hands are everywhere, roving and grabbing and dragging. Tony manages to work a hand between their bodies and reaches down to cup between Steve’s legs, because he has been waiting and wondering a long time now what his cock is like and he is not going to be denied a second longer. He’s gratified to feel it’s hard—of course, his is too—and Steve can feel the smug grin on his lips and mutters, “Shut up” before Tony starts to move his hand and then he’s incapable of speech.

Tony’s about to get those pants off and drop to his knees when Steve puts a hand on his wrist. His mouth is open and breathing heavily. “Tony... we can’t, there are cameras...”

“Then we bribe the guards for a copy, what’s the problem here?” But Steve levels him with a look, managing to look impressively disapproving for someone kiss-flushed and out of breath who just seconds ago was rutting brazenly, _brazenly_ , against another person, and Tony sighs heavily—he was only joking anyway; okay half-joking—and reluctantly lets his hand fall away. “Fine, I agree to your terms. But I seriously don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands off you so if you want to go somewhere else it’s going to have to be fast. _Fuck,_ I wish I had the suit!”

Steve grins. “I have an idea.”

 

And now Tony’s being carried out of the elevator bay.

“Hey!” he cries indignantly, but before he knows it he’s being deposited on the very normally proportioned bed and Steve’s body and lips are covering his, frantic and heated as hands rove all over him. Tony manages to struggle to a sitting position with Steve leaning above him, the better to unzip the fly that’s now at eye level and finally, God, _finally_ get his hands into Steve’s pants. He moves a hand in, rubbing alongside the outside of Steve’s—are those boxer-briefs? Yes, indeed, he’s able to feel the firm outline of Steve’s cock through the seams running along what can only be white knit cotton boxer-briefs with an elastic waist. Oh my God! This is straight out of some Captain America porn fantasy, the goody-goody all-American boy, blushing and virginal and at the same time so hot and wet Tony can barely handle it. He runs his fingers along the length, enjoying the outright moan that earns him, and—after teasing the tops of the pubes he can feel just inside that waistband—finally reaches inside to close his hands around the cock, skin to skin at last, but only long enough to flip the boner up before he retracts his hand to go back to tracing around the contours of the bulge through the underwear, a fucking tease and he knows it, but he applies more pressure to make up for it. He pauses to push the pants down Steve’s legs and then leans in to mouth the outline of the head through the fabric.

“Oh—” and from here on out it’s all about seeing what kinds of noises he can get Steve to make. That’s it, his new goal in life is to utterly undo Steve until he’s a writhing, groaning mess. He wants to see the side of him never shown to anyone else before—or after, if he has anything to say about it.

Pulling back and looking up, he sees Steve’s eyes closed, lips still redder than red, cheeks flushed, mouth open and panting. Steve notices the pause and his eyes flutter open. Tony stands up slowly, slips Steve’s shirt off his shoulders, and they look at each other for one level-headed moment. Then:

“Get on the bed. On your knees,” Tony instructs, and Steve’s too dazed to protest. He’s kicked his shoes off at some point too, so he gets on his hands and knees in just trouser socks and those ridiculous and yet so, so fitting tightie-whities. Tony takes a moment to admire the view from behind before yanking his own shirt and pants off and pressing himself up against the back of Steve’s legs, leaning over his back. He revels in his newfound ability to idly rub his boner up against the crease of Steve’s ass, and thrusts slowly a few times before he has to stop himself. Then, applying himself single-mindedly to the task at hand, he settles in, wrapping one hand around the outline of Steve’s cock from outside the boxer-briefs. He lets the other hand run over his chest, encircling and rubbing one nipple and then the other. He also presses kisses to Steve’s back and breaks the cock-fondling briefly to cup his balls, which elicits a gasp. But he’s eager to get on with things and finally pulls back to slide the underwear over the erection and down Steve’s hips and legs.

“Stay there,” he commands as he darts over to the bedside table, opening the drawer and taking out the lube he fortunately finds inside—lucky guess. Hilariously, there’s also a neatly folded red hand towel and a pristine copy of _Playboy_ that looks entirely untouched in the same drawer. He has no idea why it still looks brand-new but the image the items immediately call to mind, of Steve touching himself, bright red all over, is too unbelievably sexy and Tony has to remind himself to focus. He rushes back to his position between Steve’s spread legs, pours a generous amount of lube on one hand, tossing the bottle aside in his hurry to reach around and take hold. His own dick twitches at the long, low moan that results. He tightens his grip and sets a fast pace at first, just so excited to finally have his hand on Steve’s sizable dick that’s, really, let’s be honest, just about everything he expected from a serum-enhanced man, before cooling off a bit, remembering that it’s all about the journey, and moving more slow but steady, still with a pressure hard enough to keep Steve writhing. He also can’t resist the opportunity to move his hips in time with his hand this time, shamelessly rubbing his cock against Steve’s rear—it’s just too tempting and it feels too damn good not to. His other hand dips into the lube now spread across Steve’s skin and reaches up for the nipples again, then back towards the balls. Steve gasps the first time Tony has a hand on the cock and a hand on the balls, handling both at once but with very, very different grips.

Tony slows his pace and leans over until his mouth is close to Steve’s ear. “You know,” and his voice comes out slightly hoarse, “you can fuck into my hand if you want. I’d like to see you move.”

Steve groans, and obediently begins to buck, the movement small at first, but then more enthusiastic as he realizes how good it feels and the thrusts grow stronger. “Oh, wow—I’m not going to last much longer like this—” and Tony has to bury his face in Steve’s back just a second, overcome by the idea that he really does have Steve right at the edge.

In that case... he shifts the fingertips of his other hand to right behind the balls, pressing down on that spot like it’s a pressure point. At the same time he tightens the hand Steve’s fucking, making the pressure vise-like, and in response Steve draws his hips lower and jerks even harder into that warmth, and God if it isn’t the hottest goddamn thing he’s ever seen. He’s so distracted that he lets his other hand drop, only to hear Steve breathe out a few seconds later, “Please put your hand back,” and the combination of polite request and the underlying need almost undoes _Tony_ , which was really not the overarching mission here. He does as told though, absolutely, and puts even more pressure on that tender point. Steve manages to hold out another minute or so—a testament to that American willpower—before he lets out a loud yelp and he’s spilling out all over the sheets below him. Tony rides it out, gradually slackening his pace and his grip, and as he feels the last shudder and spurt run through Steve’s body he removes his hand, watching as Steve collapses onto the bed face-first. Tony lays down next to him, head propped up with one hand, as Steve rolls over onto his side to face him, the most adorable—not that Tony would ever admit to using or thinking that word—spent and amazed expression on his face. “That was...”

“I know,” Tony says smugly, and he can’t keep the grin off his face.

“Wow,” Steve says. He’s panting. Then—way sooner than Tony was _even_ expecting—he’s crawling over to climb on top of Tony’s defenseless, prone body, and all of a sudden he has a handful of naked Captain America weighing him down.

Well, Tony’s not one to complain, and he immediately—it’s like instinct—reaches his hands up to grope everywhere he can, including that glorious ass. Their lips meet again, this time slow and languishing, and Tony isn’t even ashamed to have his boner pushing right up into Steve’s stomach.

Steve ends the kiss languidly, and then pulls away to begin kissing his way down Tony’s neck, chest, torso, belly; finally his mouth reaches the top of Tony’s boxers (dark red plaid with gold thread shot through tastefully) and he lifts his eyes to look straight at him, and that blue gaze is so piercing and intense that Tony is struck totally dumb, almost paralyzed. Steve takes total advantage of this temporary moment of weakness to divest Tony of his last remnant of clothing. When he settles between Tony’s legs again, he’s focused and—God—unstoppable. He sinks his mouth on Tony’s cock like nothing could keep him away.

Tony may or may not make a very undignified noise. He’s more in shock that Steve’s jumping right to oral sex, _not_ that he’s complaining. “Wait, you’re—but you—no experience—you don’t have to start with—” he protests before his lizard brain can override it.

Steve’s mouth slips off with a sucking sound, and fuck fuck that’s hot. That blue gaze is on him again. “I want to,” he states simply. “Any more arguments?”

“No! No no no no. No, sir. Don’t let me stop you—” Tony’s babbling is cut off by the descent of Steve’s mouth and tongue again, and he lets his head flop back on the bed. Fuck, this is good. Steve takes him in deep, dancing his tongue along the length while it’s inside his mouth, contracts his throat a few times, and when he pulls off to lick from top to bottom, there’s enough saliva for his hand to get a good rhythm going, mouth and hand working in concert, and it’s all starting to feel amazing, just so, so good--

 _Suspiciously_ good, actually.

“Hey, I thought this was supposed to be your first time, like, ever. Did you _lie_ in that game? Because there are penalties. I can tell Clint—”

Steve stops with almost a sigh. “It is my first time,” he answers, and looks a little impatient at what is now the second interruption of The Very First Blowjob Captain America Ever Gave. He’s probably trying to concentrate on doing a good job and Tony almost feels bad.

Almost, but he has to know. “Then, I mean, come on, this is a serious amount of skill going on here. I don’t think the serum covered oral sex abilities, you know. Which is why I’m like, how—?”

“Tony.” Steve definitely sighs this time. “Internet research.” Then he resumes his ministrations without delay, leaving Tony to almost pass out at the thought of Steve looking up porn sites, maybe working one hand into his pants, and wait, why was he even trying to prepare himself? Did he know—fuck—he knew this was coming, he was getting ready for this very moment. He was. It’s such a mind-blowing revelation that he almost can’t handle it, but he knows he’s going to spin out some very rewarding masturbatory fantasies around the thought of _that_. _God, I wonder what else he looked up—_

His train of thought is promptly cut off by Steve’s mouth sucking impossibly hard on the head of his cock, one hand moving in what can only be described as an erotic massage at the base, and the other—fuck, he’s a fast learner—pressing on that same pressure point behind the balls that Tony was exploiting so blatantly earlier. Unfortunately, Tony can’t avoid making the same sorts of noises that Steve was before, and as the grip on his cock tightens and Steve’s mouth and tongue launch into an all too satisfactory rhythm, he finds himself falling over the edge. Steve keeps him into his mouth until he’s all done and so sensitive he can hardly bear it, and then comes off him slowly, letting some come drip out of his mouth onto Tony’s stomach. Tony can’t tear his eyes away from watching the Adam’s apple bob as Steve swallows the rest. Then:

“I swallowed it!” Steve says proudly. “That didn’t taste so bad.”

Tony bursts out laughing and pulls Steve down to lie next to him, sticky skin pressed together. Steve begins to draw idle patterns in the viscous liquid on Tony’s stomach.

“Okay, come on. You have a sketchbook,” Tony somehow finds the strength to say. Steve laughs and he can feel the vibrations.

“I know, but I prefer you.” The warmth in his voice is unmistakable. Tony’s still not sure how all of this is real, but he’s waking up to the fact that there are a lot of things about Steve and his behavior that he might have refused to notice earlier. And they’re all going to be unavoidable from here on out. Because such obvious fondness kind of breaks his heart.

Tony’s still pretty fucked, but now he knows that at least he’s not alone in that.


End file.
